


Drawing The Bow

by AeonDelirium



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Death Threats, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Stripping, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonDelirium/pseuds/AeonDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where there was a wedding, there should be a feast. Many things could be said of Ramsay Snow, Ramsay Bolton, as he liked to remind those who cared for their lives, but he was not going to have them say that there had not been a feast."</p><p>For all those of you who always wondered how things went down at Ramsay's first wedding, and those of you who are just looking for the regular madman behaviour we all know and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawing The Bow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> It appears I've done it again. Ramsay is just too tempting a character not to write about him.  
> I apologise for the obligatory OC character. Give Brenda a chance.

Where there was a wedding, there should be a feast. Many things could be said of Ramsay Snow, Ramsay _Bolton_ _,_ as he liked to remind those who cared for their lives, but he was not going to have them say that there had not been a feast.

It was easy playing the charming benefactor to Lady Hornwood’s simple-minded household, or perhaps they were so frightened of the reputation that preceded him that they were willing to let him play at husband and wife however long he wanted, pretending to rejoice in their lady’s ill-made match as if he were a godsend. They might be lackeys and lickspittles, the lot of them, but they were well-trained in their craft. He had to give them that.

All he required was one night, one feast, and one ride with that sorry old hag to consummate the bond. Which, of course, was going to need a bit of spadework and a lot of wine.

 

Cheers and hoots rose from various ends of the feast hall when he grabbed one of the serving girls, a comely albeit scrawny bit of skirt, and sat her down on his knees. She giggled. _She giggled._ Not a very bright girl, obviously, or perhaps she was new to the North. Or perhaps just very scared. Either way, she was clever enough not to resist when he began to play with her braided locks, attempting to undo the red ribbon that held them together.

 

His fingers were clumsy from the wine, and the ribbon simply would not come loose, so he yanked at it. Her gasp was drowned out by the opening chords to _The Bear And The Maiden Fair,_ but still, she did not struggle when he finally opened her braid, letting the long, dark curls fall over her shoulders that were left bare by the dress.

“Sorry, beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, leaning in close to make sure she understood. From the corner of his eye he could see Damon dancing on the table, a girl on each side, but he didn’t care. He pulled his own find closer to his chest, pale eyes lighting up as he squeezed another delightful giggle from her. There was a nervousness in her voice now, and in her smile, though she did her very best not to let it show.

 

“What’s your name?” His breath was hot with spice and alcohol, and she smelled of flowers or honey or some such, so he nuzzled her neck to cover his face in it, drawing another high-pitched laugh from her lips as she tensed in surprise.

“Brenda, m’lord,” she replied breathlessly, and a delicious pink flush crept up her neck to settle on her cheeks.

“Brenda,” he repeated, rasping over the name as if savouring its taste. He kissed her shoulder and neck, and though the music was too loud to hear it, he knew she was sighing with delight. The bards fiddled away merrily as Damon spun his girls around, spurred on by a chorus of drunken, cheerful voices. A roar of laughter rose like startled birds when he stumbled, taking the two of them down as he went flailing across the edge of the table.

 

“Brenda, Brenda, Brenda.” He bit her playfully, but there was the same promise of strength in his jaws as in his fingers. The tender skin prickled up with gooseflesh to the tinkling sound of a harp as the next song started, some tearful love ballad about a soldier and his faithful little wife.

“A good name. I think I could get used to it.” She looked back over her shoulder, and there was concern in her eyes, as if a sudden thought had just struck her. For the first time she was trying to see what Lady Donella thought of all this, but Ramsay caught her chin between his fingers quicker than she could catch a glimpse.

“Now,” he said, and his smile changed, he could tell she knew. “You don’t want to spoil this, do you?” She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head as best she could, with her chin still firmly in his grip.

 

“I know what you’re thinking, Brenda,” he purred in her ear, never letting go of her head. “That perhaps we shouldn’t be doing this, surely it must displease Lady Hornwood, and anyway, the septons would say it’s not proper …” The way her eyelids fluttered closed and her breathless gasp when he rocked his knee up against her weren’t very proper either, but they brought the smile back to his face nonetheless.

 

Meanwhile, the soldier’s wife was losing sleep over her lover’s ominous fate, and Damon tried to make good his shameful descent by outdrinking anyone that felt up to the challenge.

Between the drunkards that were singing along and the drunkards that were cheering for the contestants, no one seemed to pay any mind to what happened on the dais. They could have been the only two people in the room. Except perhaps for Lady Hornwood, who was watching from empty, reddened eyes as her lord husband’s lips worked their way up the serving girl’s throat.

 

“That’s right, no need to worry now. My dear lady wife won’t take offence.” She relaxed against him now, slowly, haltingly, almost despite herself, just the way he would have had it. And he rewarded her with further attention to her sensitive skin.

“Just … enjoy this moment … with me.” Her head sank back on his shoulder, and he ran his hand along her pulse, the stolen ribbon between his fingertips. His lips reached her ear once more, and she giggled at his tickling breath.

“Because tomorrow, you will die.”

 

There was a brief moment of silence when the song ended, and Ramsay could have pinpointed the moment when her pulse underneath his fingers stopped for a second, only to race in the next.

Then the music picked up again. _The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, The King Took off His Crown._ Ramsay grinned when he saw his companions struggle to their feet or cease their dancing to slowly stalk and stumble towards the dais.

They were calling for the bedding.

 

“Undress me.” He released Brenda from his grip and, with a push from behind, sent her tumbling to her knees, so he could rise. “It’s my bedding, and tradition asks that you take me to my wedding chamber and undress me.”

He ignored the laughter and bawdy jokes and Lady Hornwood’s feeble shrieks and curses behind his back, locking gazes with the girl as she looked up at him from big, frightened eyes.

He smiled at her when finally she stood and began to work on the binding of his doublet with trembling fingers, while they slowly walked from the hall.

 

“You’ll leave as soon as you’re done here,” he explained casually as they passed the other guests. He never made the slightest effort to help her, letting her scurry around him and push his arms out of the way to access the buckles.

“Run as fast as you can, as far as you can.” He lifted her chin with a finger, delighted with her struggle not to shy away. The merry light of torches danced in his colourless eyes, without making them seem any warmer. If anything, it added more depth to the depravity of his expression. He hardly blinked at all.

“Don’t stop. Not for shelter, not for food, not for sleep.”

 

Meanwhile, the other serving girls had gathered around them, giggling and hooting with excitement as they tore and yanked at his clothing aimlessly, their eyes shining and their faces flushed with curious timidity. Ramsay paid them no heed, talking in a low voice that was only meant for Brenda to hear.

 

“Once _I’m_ done here” – he paused at this to lick his lips with a mischievous smile, leaning so close to her that she had to halt her efforts on his shirt – “I’ll come after you.” He raised his hand to show her the ribbon he had taken from her, knocking aside some overzealous old maidservant who attempted to snatch it from him.

“I’ve got your scent here … a nice scent, by the way. My girls will _sniff_ you out in no time.” He gave her neck another nuzzle then, only this time she could not bite back a distressed whimper while the other girls squealed with delight at the display. His face lingered close to hers as he shrugged out of the shirt that was slid from his arms by a dozen eager hands.

 

When they reached the chamber, he took up position beside the bed, turning his back to the bride as the men pushed her down onto the covers while further stripping her of her garments and dignity. His own attendants soon flocked around them, Brenda in their midst. He made sure she stayed close to him as the others unlaced his boots.

 

“And when we find you,” he continued, “and, trust me, we will, and sooner than you’d like …” He stopped and chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m sure you can imagine. You’re not a little girl anymore.” What exactly it was that she imagined, no one could have said, but the look in her eyes made him wish he knew.

 

Finally, one of the wenches was bold enough to reach for the buckle of his belt, which only served to drive him further into his cruel game.

“I’m a humble man, Brenda,” he told her quietly, biting his lip with barely concealed excitement when the tears began to well up in her eyes. “I share with my brothers. I’m sure you’ll understand. Just look at them now, while they’re drunk and merry, and maybe tomorrow they won’t seem so frightening.”

 

He watched her face and nodded encouragingly as she looked past him to see her murderers to-be, who, by the sounds of it, were enjoying their task far more than Lady Hornwood could have hoped.

“Damon is the pretty one, you’ll know him by his teeth. Still got all of them. Then there’s Luton and Alyn, the ones that are singing along. Men of simple tastes and pleasures, rare as they are among my friends …”

The girl on the floor had finally opened his belt and was about to start on his breeches, when he snatched her wrist and held it between the two of them as he leaned closer to Brenda once more, while his breathing grew laboured with urgency.

 

“There’s Yellow Dick, and if you were wondering, yes, that’s exactly why, same goes for Grunt, lost his tongue but makes up for it otherwise … Then Skinner, his knife’s to him what the cock is to another man … words fail to describe what he does, but he’ll show you all his little tricks … Tomorrow.”

He had to pause for breath, while the other girls voiced their pleasure at what could only be his growing anticipation. It was obvious that lucky Brenda had been helping. In fact she seemed so overcome with joy that tears were streaming down her face as Lord Ramsay whispered his affection to her.

 

“And then, when we’ve had you in every way we know, give or take a bold experiment … I’ll slit your pretty throat.” His eyes were half-closed and glazed over with lust as the last words tumbled from his wet lips, and he had to bite his tongue not to finish on the spot. He let go of the eager one’s wrist, indicating she was free to help him out of his straining breeches. Brenda bit back a sob as he buried a hand in her hair and kissed her cheek, leaving it slick with sweat and spittle.

 

“And finally you’ll meet my last companion, though if the gods are good to you, you’ll be dead by then. You’ve been a welcome help tonight.” She tensed at the sudden closeness of another body behind her, along with a sickening smell of rot and sweet flowers that had some of the women struggling not to retch.

Reek wrapped his arms around her from behind and dragged her away, meeting Ramsay’s eye before he turned. He raised an eyebrow and gave a devious smirk when his master’s breeches were yanked down to his ankles. Ramsay returned the smile, and his servant made a little bow.

“I’ll send her on her way. Whenever m’lord’s ready.”

 

The groom let a couple of moments pass, giving the maids in attendance a good glance at his manhood. Then he spun around to face the bed.

“Now,” he called, drawing another wave of cheers and hoots from the onlookers as he pushed his companions aside, “where is my sweet bride?”


End file.
